


Making Separate Arrangements

by ineffablefool



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: (he is fat and beautiful and these are The Facts), Alternate Universe - Human, Asexual Relationship, Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a disaster for Aziraphale because obviously, Fluff, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands AU Week 2020, Meet-Cute, No Sex, No Smut, One Shot, Other, Prompt Fill, They/Them Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), and also lil bit of ableist language because same, because this is the Soft Zone(TM), cocoa which is not a metaphor for anything else, i made this G but the swearing really merits a T oops fixed now, lil bit of swearing because Crowley, philodendrons, slight bit of unintentional heteronormativity from Crowley's mum, unnecessary references to paleoanthropology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:48:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26731645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineffablefool/pseuds/ineffablefool
Summary: Crowley's mum would really like them to have someone special, so she tries to arrange introductory meetings between them and eligible women.  At one of these, Crowley maybe makes a different arrangement of their own.  (Human AU, little bit goofy, lot bit soft)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 62
Kudos: 251
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	Making Separate Arrangements

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to the Soft Zone(TM)! Hope you're in the mood for some asexual, fat-positive fluff.
> 
> This is a prompt fill for [Ineffable Husbands AU Week 2020](https://ineffablehusbandsweek.tumblr.com/post/625843903784976384/ineffable-husbands-au-week). The prompt for September 24th was arranged marriage and/or wedding planner. I wasn't thinking the sort of arranged marriage where you're betrothed to the prince of the neighboring kingdom when you're like three years old and someday you'll marry him for political reasons and that's just it, but more the process some of my coworkers have described to me from where they grew up -- your parents and other parents talk to each other and pick out potential matchups, and then you get to actually meet the other person, and get to know them, and decide whether you like them, or whether your parents should try again.
> 
> Then I went off the rails about a fifth of the way in, but whatever. Also, today Crowley uses they/them pronouns, because I felt like it. Also also, none of this has anything to do with Mr Harmony from the canon 1941 scene. I am indulging myself in the silly bit of wordplay I came up with and ignoring, for now, the existence of the unrelated spy.
> 
>  **Warnings:** The text sort of implies that Crowley's mum only tries to matchmake for them with women, even though they're attracted to all genders. Mention of the possibility of a trans person getting misgendered, but no such thing happens in text.
> 
> I'm writing for the TV characterization, but I've decided that my written Aziraphale is visibly fat. Tumblr and AO3 user Squeegeelicious has created [this absolutely gorgeous artwork](https://ineffablefool.tumblr.com/post/189282541139/squeegeelicious-a-walk-to-the-ritz-for) for my first human AU [If Not Now, When](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20936816), which should help you know what to visualize as you read!

“Mum,” Crowley groaned. “Mum!”

There was a deep sigh. “Yes, Anthony?”

“Could we just, like.” They waved idly with the hand not holding the phone. “Not? Look, all these lovely daughters of your coworkers and of dad’s friends and whatever else — I get it, I do. Your kid’s middle-aged and you don’t want them to die unloved.”

“Oh, _Anthony_ ,” their mum said, and Crowley grimaced. They’d wanted fondly exasperated, not gentle. “You’ll always be loved no matter what. You’ve got me, and your sister, and I know that witchy friend of yours just loves you to bits.”

Crowley groaned again.

“But, yes, I really would like to see you with someone special in your life. It could be anyone, but your father and Michael’s father were such good friends, and she’s a smart, capable person —”

“Wait, what was her name again?”

“Michael.”

It was probably a bad idea, but Crowley was interested now. Not a lot of female Michaels out there — was she non-binary, maybe? Was he trans and just getting misgendered? Hard not to be a _little_ interested in the potential of another queer person.

“Michael Harmony,” their mum added, and there went that idea.

This time they accompanied the groan with a flop back onto the sofa, ending up with a pillow fallen half on their face. “Not the Celestial Harmonies!”

“Must you always call them that? They’re all perfectly nice people, you know.” She hesitated. “A bit odd, some of them. But nice.”

“They’re a cult.” They batted away the pillow. Tasted kind of dusty; maybe they should wash it. “They’re a weird cult that names all their kids after angels and don’t think the dinosaurs were real.”

Mum made a complicated little noise. “All right, yes, so maybe all that did _used_ to be true, when the elder Mr Harmony was still alive. But it’s not polite to just go and _say_ it.”

“So I can’t go up to this Michael and ask her whether she really thinks the Piltdown Man is still a witty gotcha on modern science?”

“Anthony. My child. If you will come to the Harmonys' party next weekend and actually _talk_ to her, you can ask her any paleontology questions you want.”

* * *

The Harmony house was creepy. Tadfield was no goddamn place for a mansion — no, call it what it was, a _compound_ — but here it was anyway. A tall, graceful hedge all around the property almost hid it away completely from the outside, and made it feel from the inside like another planet. The grounds were so immaculately kept that Crowley half wished they’d brought a ruler. They wanted to measure the grass, confirm their suspicions that each blade was the same height to the micrometer.

Michael was just as immaculate. Tall, good-looking in a severe way that a lot of people would definitely be into. No sense of humor at all.

“Oh, hey,” Crowley said, about five minutes into a conversation where they hadn’t even gotten a chance to say anything purposefully annoying yet. “Think I see a friend of mine over by the philodendrons. Mind if I go say hello? Won’t take but a minute —”

Michael probably had too much fancy breeding to make her relief completely obvious. “Oh, don’t hurry on my account.” A thin little smile. “Take as long as you need. Please.”

Crowley enjoyed a quiet moment by the potted philodendrons. One of them had spots, and they took the opportunity to hiss a few words of their particular brand of vigorous encouragement at it.

The philodendron giggled.

“The fuck?” Crowley said, and the philodendron giggled again.

“I’m sorry,” the philodendron said, wiggling some of its leaves, “it isn’t that I was _eavesdropping_ on your little conversation...”

Okay. Not the plant, but someone on the other side of it. The wiggling was two hands — pale, plump, signet ring on one pinky — drawing leaves aside. Two bright hazel eyes peered through the opening.

“It’s just that I’ve never heard such creative insults directed at a philodendron. Do you actually _own_ a flamethrower?”

Crowley glared at the intruder through their sunglasses. “You give a lot of guff for a talking plant.”

The owner of the hands and eyes laughed like that was the cleverest thing anyone had ever said. The eyes crinkled, and Crowley found themself wondering what else was on the other side of the philodendron, besides bright crinkling eyes and a clear high laugh. They could maybe see blond eyebrows, and soft round cheeks.

The hands looked soft, too. 

“Anyway,” Crowley said. They brushed some imaginary dust off the suit they’d worn against their better judgement. “Not actually some kind of plant-hating weirdo. No flamethrower. Name’s Crowley, they/them pronouns. You?”

The actually very nice hazel eyes blinked innocently at him. “Ah. I go by the ‘he’ pronouns, but as for name...” The eyes practically squeezed shut with delight now, as the leaves shook gently again. “Would it be too much on the nose to ask you to call me ‘Phil’...?”

Crowley groaned, but it was all mixed in with a laugh. Here was someone with all the sense of humor Michael Harmony had apparently been tragically born without. And he hadn’t made a big deal about singular they, and he was very possibly cute, if the rest of him matched what Crowley knew of him so far. Nothing severe in that giggle, or those soft, round hands.

“Right then, _Phil_.” They put enough emphasis on the name to make it clear exactly how much suffering it was causing them to tolerate this adorable nonsense. “If you have a problem with me threatening the local flora, feel free to suggest something else to do.”

Was that flirting? Shit. They were flirting with a pair of pretty eyes and two really very holdable-looking hands. They should walk it back before they insulted the guy or —

But ‘Phil’ sounded nothing but sympathetic. “Not the party sort either, then? I rather hate them. I’m terrible at small talk, and I’ve never been a fellow who could charm everyone just by being in the room.”

“Really? You’re the most charming _Philodendron bipinnatifidum_ I’ve talked to all evening.”

That flirting was almost sort of on purpose. ‘Phil’ didn’t say anything in response, but his round cheeks went pink, which Crowley hoped was a good thing. The hazel eyes darted away, back to Crowley, away again.

Then the hands pulled back, leaves springing back into place, and Crowley’s stomach plummeted to the molten core of the earth.

“Hey,” they said, moving closer to the plants, wanting to be heard without having to raise their voice. “Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t —”

‘Phil’ answered, not from behind the plants, but from right next to Crowley.

“I — I suppose we could both just... leave.”

They definitely did not jump or let out a surprised little squeak at all. Absolutely the pinnacle of cool as they turned around, stared, mumbled, and finally settled on “Wha?”

‘Phil’ didn’t really look at them, now there wasn’t a tiny jungle in between. He just twisted his hands in front of his belly, glancing around at the plants and the floor and the room around him.

Soft, the word had been, the thought that had gone through Crowley’s head when they’d looked at ‘Phil’s’ hands, or at his smiling cheeks through the leaves. Soft and round. They’d wondered if the rest of him had maybe matched. Thought he might be cute, if so.

The rest of him matched, very soft and very round, in a suit that looked like an Edwardian museum piece and that had to be custom-tailored. The waistcoat fit like a fussy velvet glove across his wide belly. A neat bow tie framed his round face from below, a cloud of pale blond curls above. No hard edges to him at all.

He wasn’t cute, though, Crowley had been way off there. He was _beautiful_.

“We could just leave,” ‘Phil’ repeated, saying it to his hands. “The party, I mean.”

Crowley rubbed the back of their neck. “Y — wh, you mean, what? Go off together?”

Those soft hands were going to wear each other down to nothing if ‘Phil’ didn’t stop wringing them. Maybe Crowley should offer to hold them. “The main kitchen is being used for the festivities, but there’s another in the east wing. I... happen to keep a supply of cocoa stashed away there, if you’d care to...?”

And he looked up, as he trailed off, those honestly stunning hazel eyes trying to find Crowley’s through the sunglasses. Cocoa. He was funny and gorgeous and he wanted Crowley to sneak away with him, not for some kind of activity Crowley had no interest in and would have to turn him down for, but for a nice wholesome mug of cocoa.

“Yeah,” they said. Nodded, to make sure their answer was clear. Sort of forgot how to stop when their reward was another bright, eye-crinkling smile. “Yeah, yes, absolutely let’s do that, lead the way, yep.” Then their brain came back online. “Hang on. _You’ve_ got a cocoa stash in the backup kitchen?”

‘Phil’ looked guilty, which it turned out was completely adorable on him. “Well... yes. I, ah, live here, you know.”

Crowley stared. His suit was way too expensive for him to be some kind of household staff. That left one possibility, which didn’t make sense, but...

“Aziraphale,” not-Phil-at-all said, one soft hand held out. “Aziraphale Harmony.”

He just stood there, waiting for Crowley’s brain to finish rebooting again. There were a lot of thoughts bouncing around loose up there. _Must_ _be a Celestial Harmony, got an angel name and everything_ was one. _Thank fuck, I don’t think I could ever have married a Phil_ was another. _I think he wants me to shake his hand? I should maybe do that?_ bubbled up for a quarter-second before being replaced by _God if we do fall in love and get married and move to a pretty little cottage with a garden full of roses then mum is **never** going to stop being smug about suggesting I come to this stupid party —_

The thoughts all crashed to a halt when they realized they’d taken Aziraphale’s hand.

Hadn’t shaken it, though. Perfectly reasonable thing to do, shake that hand. Nothing like what Crowley had actually done, which had been to curl their fingers around Aziraphale’s, and raise the hand to their lips, and actually, literally kiss it, as if that was appropriate behavior at all.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said.

 _At least I’ve kissed the hand of an angel_ , Crowley thought wildly. _Something nice to do before I die of embarrassment._

“Gosh,” Aziraphale said, and when Crowley looked up, the eyes above those round blushing cheeks were sparkling. “Does... this mean you’re still interested in cocoa?”

The hand in Crowley’s shifted, pudgy fingers pressing against theirs.

“Nhrbgh,” Crowley replied. This wasn’t supposed to have happened. They weren’t supposed to have met a funny, clever, absolutely gorgeous and actually-attracted-to-them-right-back man behind the goddamn potted philodendrons. The whole night should have been a waste of time, with maybe a laugh or two to be found in needling Michael about paleontology.

Although, speaking of.

They looked down at Aziraphale, trying to process the fact that the two of them were definitely holding hands. They’d never held a hand this round before, absolutely never in all their life. They never wanted to let go.

“Quick question first,” they said, “bear with me,” and Aziraphale furrowed his brow but said nothing. “Piltdown Man. Thoughts?”

Aziraphale stared at them a moment longer, then smiled. “Oh! I’ve an interest in the history of the natural sciences, actually. Rather a hullabaloo at the time, and a fascinating example of the self-correcting nature of science as a discipline of facts based on available eviden — oh my _goodness_ —”

It was absolutely on purpose, this time, when Crowley kissed his hand. He turned the prettiest shade of pink in the universe, and his other hand fluttered up to his mouth.

“I,” Crowley said, “would love to hear you talk about, about Piltdown Man. Or science, or — science history, or whatever. Anything. Long as you wanna keep talking to me.” They grinned, and Aziraphale beamed back ten times as bright. “Cocoa’s just a bonus.”

“Spoken like a person who’s never had it prepared correctly,” Aziraphale sniffed. Then he smiled, shy and beautiful. “But that’s simple enough to fix.”

He started walking, and Crowley followed.

“Let’s — oh, how did you put it?” Aziraphale’s hand squeezed theirs gently. “Let’s go off together.”

**Author's Note:**

> [More information about the Piltdown Man can be found on the Internet.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Piltdown_Man) The short version is that, in 1912, a dude stuck an orangutan jawbone on a human cranium, gussied it up a bit, and """found""" this marvelous new """pre-human ancestor""" in a gravel pit in England. Some scientists said it was real, some said it was fake right off the bat, and by the time it was conclusively proved to be fake in 1953 (because fancy new microscopes could show where the dude had filed things into shape), pretty much nobody believed in it anymore. Despite this, it's still sometimes trotted out as proof that evolution is fake, because some scientists over a hundred years ago didn't yet have the tools to immediately prove the hoax.
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you were thinking of leaving a comment, please know that I am frequently behind on answering, but that I always treasure every single one. I've literally cried a few times reading some of the lovely things people have said, and they really are fuel for my soft little heart -- but never, ever required, so please don't feel pressured. 
> 
> If you want to say hi on Tumblr, I'm [ineffablefool](https://ineffablefool.tumblr.com) there, too.
> 
> I would never actively request art from anyone I wasn't paying, but if you, the human reading this, were to decide it was worth your time to create fanart based on any of my stories, I would be incredibly honored ([and would love to enshrine it forever on my Tumblr](https://ineffablefool.tumblr.com/tagged/ineffablefool-gets-fanart-from-lovely-people))! I have only one requirement: please don't draw Aziraphale any thinner than the size I headcanon (I need both my soft cuddly daydreams, and my positive fat representation). Here are some examples of what that sort of minimum body size/shape might look like: ([beautiful fanart created for me by Squeegeelicious](https://ineffablefool.tumblr.com/post/189282541139/squeegeelicious-a-walk-to-the-ritz-for)) ([speremint 1](https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/186342035100/i-did-this-instead-of-my-hw-ya-girl-is-gonna)) ([speremint 2 from her Reversed Omens AU](https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/186574829700/finally-finally-done-making-these-refs-my)) ([dotstronaut](https://dotstronaut.tumblr.com/post/186740069618/no-really-i-dont-think-you-all-understand-how)) Otherwise, the characters can look however you like!
> 
> I hope you're having a fantastic day.


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